PR 
•P3 




FUGITIVE PIECES. 



BY THE LATE 



ADAM PATERSON, ESQUIRE, 



OF EDINBURGH, ADVOCATE. 



PRESENTED AS A MEMORIAL OF HIM TO HIS FRIENDS 
AND COMPANIONS. 



" The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken awav ; blessed be the 
Name of the Lord." 



tt 



LONDON 
1833. 






205449 
,'13 



LONDON: 

IBOTSON AMD PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY-STREET, STRAND. 



MEMOIR, &c. 



One of the earliest and latest wishes of the 
heart is to be remembered ; to have, as immor- 
tal spirits, an unseen presence with those we 
love ; to be theirs without relation to distance 
or time — to be one with them in a form of 
ife that does not appear to fade away. Hence 
tq often consecrate to our Memory, which is 
,r invisible being upon earth, such objects as 
will year after year represent our existence 
and tell of our history. The flower which blos- 
soms each successive spring may have its own 
lowly but sacred institution, and prolong, 
wherever it is seen, a communion between the 
absent and the dear. The star of night, that 
seems only to shine on the sleeping and un- 
mindful, is many a time a link between those 
who are far separated, to whom it is a faith- 



2 MEMOIR. 

ful witness in Heaven, and there is scarcely any 
thing- beautiful in the universe, which hath 
not been made in some still and secret cove- 
nant — sacred to affection. 

The gifts which are so frequently inter- 
changed, and so fondly preserved, as though 
they could retain the impress and identity of 
the Donor, are but so many devices by which 
we would live in the thoughts of those who 
will be absent from us for a long period of 
Time : nor is the desire of recollection con- 
fined to the narrow span of this transitory ex- 
istence. The tomb itself is a silent and ten- 
der memorial from the dead to the living — 
from the living to the dead. Some fond in- 
scription over each bed of rest gives an admo- 
nition that the unknown eternity is not a state 
which hides for ever each beloved acquaint- 
ance out of sight, or in which all things are 
forgotten. Among the treasures of remem- 
brance none are more sacred than the writings 
of those who are departed, never to return ; 
the only remains which are not subject to de- 
cay ; the only memorials which do not fall 
into ruin. They present to us, with an affect- 
ing fidelity, the secret imaginations, the infi- 



MEMOIR. 3 

nite hopes, the successive affections of the 
heart. The pulse of life seems scarcely to 
have ceased, for the very soul of those we 
have loved becomes present to us in its own 
unfaded scriptures ; every sentiment has its 
image,— every line is its revelation. This 
will more particularly apply to the poetry of 
the dead ; a form of language which is not of 
the world even as they are not of the world ; 
but suited to the holy and tender conceptions 
that are most remote from the passions of hu- 
man life, and breathe of futurity. Under this 
impression the following stanzas have been 
collected. They were written by one who 
was distinguished by a fine genius, and en- 
deared to all who knew him, by a noble and 
most gentle disposition ; by one whose talents 
would have been still more conspicuous, had 
not their lustre been subdued in the light 
which shined so softly and brightly through his 
life, & y nd was designed to glorify not himself, 
but his Father which is in Heaven. They were 
written by the late Adam Paterson, of Edin- 
burgh, and are presented as a tribute of affec- 
tionate regard to those who will be most deeply 
interested in his memory, and in the picture 

b 2 



4 MEMOIR. 

they afford of his thoughts and feelings, parti- 
cularly during his last illness. In these few 
fugitive compositions the stranger may find 
many passages that are beautiful; and his 
friends may recognize many a thought and 
sentiment worthy of himself — worthy of all 
they believed him, and knew him to be. 

Mr. Paterson will long be remembered and 
regretted by a circle of companions, who felt a 
high esteem and regard for his superior abilities 
and acquirements, and for his mild, amiable, and 
affectionate disposition. He showed an early 
taste and talent for those literary pursuits which 
continued afterwards to be his favourite occu- 
pation, and which afforded him in health and 
in sickness a never-failing resource. He came 
to the bar in 1822, but almost immediately 
went abroad, and travelled on the continent 
for about a year, of which a considera- 
ble part was passed in Italy, where he con- 
firmed his taste for the literature of that coun- 
try for which he always retained a predilec- 
tion. In the course of his wanderings, he 
formed an acquaintance with an elegant and 
talented scholar from Cambridge, who has 
since risen to great eminence and distinction, 



MEMOIR. 5 

and attained a high situation in Trinity Col- 
lege ; he did more — he gained the friendship 
and esteem of that learned Divine — and never 
did two more kindred minds cultivate the en- 
dearing virtue of friendship with more unmin- 
gled and uninterrupted success. On the same 
occasion, he made an interesting and agree- 
able tour through Sicily, with two early school 
companions, to whom he was strongly attach- 
ed, and who will now look back with me- 
lancholy pleasure to those scenes and little ad- 
ventures of their journey, which they have 
been accustomed to recollect with unmixed 
delight. When at Palermo, he had the pain- 
ful and melancholy satisfaction of visiting the 
grave of his immediate elder and favourite 
brother, James, who was cut off in the bloom 
of youth, in 1820, by the same sad and un- 
sparing disease that afterwards carried off 
himself; and never did the tears of affec- 
tionate regret fall on the grave of one more 
truly beloved, than those which fell from the 
eye of the one brother upon the grave of the 
other. 

After his return to Scotland, Mr. Paterson. 
applied himself with much assiduity to the 



MEMOIR. 

study of his profession ; but from the want of 
a robust constitution, and perhaps from a too 
fastidious taste, he was not calculated at once 
to engage in all the details and bustle of busi- 
ness with that animation and zeal which seem 
necessary for immediate professional success. 
Had he lived, however, and kept his health, 
his talents, which were duly valued and coun- 
tenanced by many of the highest and most 
learned characters on the bench and at the 
bar, and for whom he ever entertained the 
most unfeigned respect and esteem, afforded 
every prospect of future eminence and success. 
In 1831, Mr. Paterson was attacked by the 
insidious consumptive malady to which he fell 
a victim, and which daily gained ground, not- 
withstanding the most able medical assistance, 
and the most watchful care of a devoted mo- 
ther. He was removed first to the island of 
Bute, and afterwards to Devonshire, and, had 
time and strength been allowed, it was pro- 
posed that he should afterwards visit a more 
southern climate. While at Torquay, besides 
the presence of his relations, for whom he 
always seemed to feel much more than for 
himself, he enjoyed the occasional visits of a 



MEMOIR. 



kind friend and townsman, then residing there, 
whose literary and historical compositions have 
raised him to a high and deserved reputation, 
and who is equally distinguished for his pri- 
vate and social virtues. At Torquay, too, he 
derived much pleasure and satisfaction from 
the last friendship he was permitted to form 
upon earth. The Reverend Plumpton Wil- 
son, of Ilchester, in Somersetshire, happened 
at the time to be doing duty there, and that 
estimable and accomplished clergyman de- 
voted himself, to cheer and comfort the afflicted 
one on his journey to the Land of Peace, with 
a tenderness of feeling, and a pious and affec- 
tionate kindness, not to be surpassed. Possess- 
ed of an elegant mind — a deep and thorough 
knowledge of the truths and consolations of 
the gospel — a most pure and fervent zeal in the 
discharge of his duties as a minister of Christ — 
and a gentleness of manner at once pleasing 
and delightful — he knew well how to speak 
Peace to the dying Christian, " to minister to 
the mind diseased," and to soothe and comfort 
the mourner. And those relatives of the de- 
parted, who experienced so much of Mr. Wil- 
son's unwearied and affectionate kindness and 



O MEMOIR. 

attention, must ever entertain for him the 
liveliest gratitude and most sincere regard. 
Nor did his friendship cease with their leaving 
Torquay. On learning that it was intended 
to present some of the fugitive pieces written 
by Mr. Paterson, as a memorial to his sorrow- 
ing friends, he kindly consented to write a 
short notice to be prefixed to them. And he 
accordingly did so — but being thought to be 
clothed in language of higher eulogium and 
panegyric than was altogether proper to be 
adopted by his relations, or necessary to be 
addressed to the friends who knew Adam Pa- 
terson so well, some parts of it have been al- 
tered, and others omitted ; and yet, perhaps, 
even more has been retained than may be 
thought by some to be either proper or ne- 
cessary. Still it may be pleasing to them 
to learn, even in such glowing terms, the 
particulars of their friend's latter days upon 
earth, and how much his principles and de- 
portment had gained the esteem and admira- 
tion of so pious and estimable a clergyman as 
Mr. Wilson. 

The observations hereafter introduced, are 
drawn from the last few weeks of his sickness, 



whilst yet the fine gold was in the crucible, 
and the soul waited on the threshold of earth- 
ly affection and regret, " ready to be revealed" 
with all the hopes and graces of Christian cha- 
racter collected for its approaching departure. 
The Faith, which had been evidently renew- 
ed from the fraud and malice of the world, 
was now rooted and settled in the Gospel ; it 
was displayed in an entire devotion to the 
service and will of his Creator, and in that 
silent love with which he adored his blessed 
Redeemer. His piety belonged to a kingdom 
which cometh not with observation ; it was the 
growth of the days of his youth, had imper- 
ceptibly come up in the prime of his manhood, 
and become inwardly stronger and brighter as 
his outward strength hastened rapidly to decay. 
Few have led a life so blameless and unspotted 
from the world, yet never did sinner seek more 
humbly and fervently to the Cross : of those 
to whom much has been forgiven, none could 
love more faithfully and gratefully that Saviour, 
who was exalted that he might give remission 
of sins. Many times did he contemplate not 
only the trespasses and errors, of which, in 
common with mankind, he had to mourn the 



10 MEMOIR. 

commission, but he was sensible of that cor- 
ruption which lies deep in every heart. He 
felt that there was in his own fallen nature, 
that evil which the temptation of a moment 
might disclose, and whilst he trusted only in 
that atonement which should save him from 
future and eternal sorrow, he counted that 
Love still more precious which had sanctified a 
being so fallen as his own, and hallowed it 
from sin. 

From the habit of deep meditation which he 
had acquired during two years of declining 
health, he had become somewhat reserved, and 
especially on subjects of a religious nature. 
He spoke indeed of the mysteries of the king- 
dom of God with great devotedness and so- 
lemnity, but he seemed to treat of them as 
things peculiar to himself, to which he would 
never draw the attention of indifference or in- 
vite the solicitude of affection. 

As he approached, however, that solemn 
change in the figure of which he was ere long to 
be translated, he discoursed more frequently 
and tenderly on the doctrines of the gospel. 
He had been fearful lest he should seem to 
exalt himself by the mention of those truths 



.MEMOIR. 11 

in which he had experienced unspeakable com- 
forts ; — and many times been elevated far above 
the trials of the world : but now it appeared 
a solemn duty to tell what great things God 
had done for him, and to speak of Him who 
had given him the victory. The mingled hu- 
mility and confidence ; the grief for sin and 
joy in believing, were to the last so vividly de- 
picted in his tone and manner, that it seemed 
as if the Lord had lifted up his countenance 
upon his departing servant, and looked upon 
him from the throne of his eternal love, and 
given him a premonition of such things as 
should follow the decease he was about to ac- 
complish ; a promise that he should soon be with 
the just made perfect. He died on the evening 
of the first day of the week, December 1832. 
On the night of the Sabbath, which had ever 
been to him the delight of the Lord, and a day 
religiously kept holy, he entered into his rest. 
He retained every faculty of faith, and love, 
and memory, to the last. Within an hour of 
his departure he joined in the most solemn 
offices of religion. Within a few moments of 
his death, the beautiful hymn of " O God of 
Bethel, * was repeated to him, and even then 



12 MEMOIR. 

did he who was departing* in peace listen so 
truly, that he corrected an error, which had 
been made during the repetition at that time 
of agitation and distress. Immediately after, 
in the beautiful words of Scripture, he sighed 
in spirit ; and that sigh so still, so gentle, was 
the only sign which told that the Saviour had 
come unto his own, and his own had received. 
So calm, so blessed the translation, that his 
beloved and bereaved mother was scarcely 
aware of his departure ; it was some moments 
ere she knew that her child, at his Saviour's 
bidding, had left all and followed him. 

Those who knew Adam Paterson need not 
be reminded how faithfully he discharged the 
relations of social life : belonging to a country 
in which the ties of kindred are held religious- 
ly sacred, and only drawn the closer in sick- 
ness and sorrow, he yielded to none of her chil- 
dren in the strength of filial love and domes- 
tic attachment. His life appeared wrapped up 
in the life of his mother, who, with a love 
which only a mother knows, had accompanied 
him a distance of many hundred miles, to make 
all his bed in his sickness, and receive his last 
breath into her bosom. For her sake the tear 



MEMOIR. 13 

was suppressed, the sigh was hushed, and the 
smile serenely played upon the pallid lip. Often 
as some neglected Invalid passed by, con- 
signed to a menial's care, sent to the coast to 
die, deserted by every friend and once dear 
acquaintance, he would give to their sufferings 
the tear that never fell for his own. Often 
would he indulge the grateful reflection, that 
he had not been left desolate, and that the love 
of those who ministered to him was not satis- 
fied with visits repeated at some distant inter- 
val, but was like that of his Gracious Redeemer, 
a love that abideth unto the end. To beguile 
the grief and anxiety of those who attended 
him, during the slow progress of consumption, 
he would indite letters to his relatives, having 
reference to such arrangements of his time as 
included many a future month and year; but 
he knew too well that the distance was only 
imaginary which he thus fondly interposed be- 
tween himself and the grave ; and whilst he 
spoke of his journey to Italy in the spring, it 
was plain to the writer of these lines, that he 
had only one departure in view, that, in the 
language of the apostle, he sought a country 
that was a heavenly one. He was an elegant 



14 MEMOIR, 

and accomplished scholar, and brought with 
him into retirement a mind by habit remark- 
ably discriminative of the true, and by nature 
exquisitely sensitive of the beautiful ; he had a 
retentive and faithful memory ; his acquire- 
ment was rapid, but he did nothing- and knew 
nothing superficially ; he was as remarkable 
for the solidity and lustre of his attainments, as 
he was for the depth and sweetness of his cha- 
racter. He had a dark lustrous and pene. 
trating eye, which mirrored every impulse and 
emotion of the soul ; a voice not strong but 
melodious ; an impressive but unassuming de- 
portment. He lies buried in the churchyard 
cf Kingskerswell, a village in Devonshire, 
four miles from Torquay. His family offer 
to the clergyman, Mr. Neck, who obliged 
them by his permission of interment, their tri- 
bute of thanks, remembrance, and respect. 
It seems a solace to them, that one who for 
forty years has been so deeply beloved by 
his people for his incorrupt life, evangelical 
doctrine, and tenderness of heart, should have 
received their dear lamented one among his 
peaceful dead ; and the churchyard of Kings- 
kerswell is still, sequestered, and holy ; no path- 
way invades its sanctity ; no careless footstep 



MEMOIR. 15 

breaks its repose ; and all is so hushed and 
calm around the grave, and so distant from the 
troubled sounds of life, that it seems as if the 
Lamb of God had given his peace to the sa- 
cred spot, and taken away from it the sins of 
the world. 

The following is the inscription on the stone 
over the grave. 

ADAM PATERSON, 

OF 

THE CITY OF EDINBURGH, ADVOCATE, 

BORN 6 JAN. 1800 : DIED 2 DECEM. 1832. 

GREATLY BELOVED AND DEEPLY LAMENTED, 

AS A DEVOTED SON J AN AFFECTIONATE BROTHER; 

AN ATTACHED AND ENDURING FRIEND. 

STILL PRESENT TO FAITH AND AFFECTION, THOUGH ABSENT IN THE LORD. 

A SINCERE AND PIOUS CHRISTIAN, 

POSSESSED OF 

RARE BUT RETIRING TALENTS AND DISTINGUISHED ACQUIREMENTS; 

MEEK AND KIND TO MEN OF SORROWS; 

GENTLE AND PATIENT UNDER SUFFERING. 

TOO CONSCIOUS OF HIS OWN WEAKNESS NOT TO BE SERIOUS, 

TOO CONFIDENT IN HIS REDEEMER'S STRENGTH NOT TO BE CHEERFUL, 

TOO FAITHFUL TO HIS SAVIOUR'S EXAMPLE NOT TO BE RESIGNED. 

IN HIS DEATH, AS IN HIS LIFE, 

THE CHILD OF GOD. 



FUGITIVE PIECES 



THE SABBATH-BELL. 



The Sabbath-bell ! How solemnly 

It summons us to prayer ; 
Bidding us from the world to flee, 

And to God's house repair. 

The Sabbath-bell ! How boomingly 

It fills the vaulted sky ; 
Telling each idler on the lea, 

That thoughtless man must die. 

e 2 



20 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

The Sabbath-bell ! How mournfully 
It strikes the sick man's ear ; 

Speaking of praise and symphony, 
He may no longer hear. 

The Sabbath-bell ! How fearfully 
It tells the Sinner's doom ; 

When life's vain follies cease to be, 
And terror haunts the tomb. 

The Sabbath-bell ! How soothingly 
It lulls the Saint to rest ; 

And wafts his soul, unfettered, free, 
To mansions of the blest. 

The Sabbath-bell ! What melody 
It flings adown the breeze, 

To him who views God's majesty 
Upon the pathless seas. 



FUGITIVE PIECES. 21 

Reminding him, how peacefully 
The church-yard path he trode, 

As by his sire, he bent his knee, 
And praised his father's God. 

For that rude church, how wistfully 

Hell sigh on distant shore, 
Once more to see the old yew-tree, 

And hear its bell once more. 

For thee, whose thoughts thus musingly 

On this soft music dwell; 
Trust in the Lord, and soon to thee, 

Will ring Heaven's Sabbath-bell. 

Barone Cottage, Rothesay, 
July 8, 1832. 



ON YARROW. 



Yarrow ! Thine is a name most dear to song, 
And rash the minstrel hand that would prolong 
The sacred fillet that adorns thy fane, 
And shows thee favourite of the tuneful train. 

Well, I will choose for me, a humbler theme, 
And see where dashes on this gurgling stream, 
Glorying and thundering in her own wild nook, 
Unknown to bleating flock or shepherd's crook. 



FUGITIVE PIECES. 23 

'Mid bending orchards and rich waving corn, 
Such as fair England's vales alone adorn, 
She hurries forward to enrich the plain, 
Aud fling her tribute to th 1 engulphing main. 

But say, ye guardian Naiads of the flood, 
Hovering and peering through the shaggy wood, 
What name is sacred to your favourite rill ? 
Help me, O help my failing rhymes to fill ! 

" Yarrow J 11 the sportive Naiads laughing cry, 
" Yarrow !" more calm the echoing rocks reply : 
" Yarrow I 11 cries Scotia, with indignant air, 
" Who dares that sacred Name to murmur there ?" 

Peace, gracious Queen, though pilfered be the name, 
Mark how it swells the hostel's well-earned fame ; 
How oft the traveller arrests his steed, 
Ere baiting time, that classic name to read! 



24 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

Old Scottish Yarrow ! If by thee I stood. 
I'd drain a goblet of thy limpid flood; 
But since 'tis English Yarrow murmurs here, 
I'll drink a bumper of their home-brewed beer. 

Farewell then, Yarrow ! and since now thy stream 
Recals a distant land — a pleasant dream; 
Mayhap when next old Scotia's stream I scan, 
I'll sigh for Thee, and for this flowing Can. 



Written at Yarrow Bridge, in Lancashire, when 
resting for the night on his journey to Devon- 
shire, August 1832. 



ON YOUNG NAPOLEON 



And thou hast gone to the cold grave, 
Despite of all thy rank and name ; 

For sure, if these could ever save, 

Thou hadst not died — thou Child of Fame 

How glorious was thy burst on earth ! 

What transports hailed the new-born boy ! 
Nations assembled at thy birth, 

And rent the air with shouts of joy. 



26 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

Thy Sire, the spirit of his age, 

Looked but for thee to make him blest ; 
And thought even war might vainly rage, 

If thou wert prattling on his breast. 

Dear was the price he paid for thee, 
To part from her he loved so well ; 

And O ! the pain — the agony — 
He left in her pure breast to dwell. 

Had he now lived, and heard the moan, 
That tells this cruel stroke of fate, 

What were to him the crown — the throne — 
And all the pageantry of state ? 

What then, the triumphs he had won, 
Marengo's plain or Jena's fight, 

When he, the dear — the cherished son — 
Thus sinks beneath untimely blight ! 



FUGITIVE PIECES. 27 

Then e'en his stubborn heart had felt 

The nothingness of earthly power. 
As thus he saw his visions melt, 

And vanish in one little hour. 

Aye ! had he lived, till fell disease 

Had paled thy cheek, and glazed thine eye, 

How had he toiled to give thee ease, 
And tried to smooth the road to die ! 

Then hadst thou known the cautious tread, 

That fears to break upon repose, 
That softly hovers round the bed 

To watch the heavy eye-lids close. 

Not banished then to stranger halls, 

Nor left to foreign hirelings' care ; 
Where thine own France thy heart recals, 

Her soothing shores — her balmy air. 



28 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

But what avails ? To thee the roar 
Of Austrian cannon o'er thy grave, 

Is now, as lovely as the shore 

Echoing the murmur of the wave. 

For thee, thy days on earth are numbered, 
And there thy bones as calmly sleep, 

As if on Gallic soil they slumbered, 
Where Gallia's sons thy requiem weep. 

Written at Old Down Inn, in Somersetshire, Sept. 10, 1832, 
where the subject was suggested by a bust of Napoleon 
placed in the garden of the inn. 



" On September 20, in the Lac de Gauve, near Cauterets, in the 
department of the High Pyrenees, in France, was drowned Mr. W. 
II. Patisson, Barrister, and his Lady. Mr. and Mrs. P. had been on 
a tour to the Pyrenees since their marriage, in August last. The la- 
mentable accident appears to have arisen from Mr. and Mrs, P. losing 
their balance while in the boat, into which they entered without a 
boatman. He was seen to be sounding the depth of the Lake with 
his oar, and Mrs. P. was seen starting up as if to catch her husband. 
They both fell. The body of Mr. P. had not been found when the 
accounts of the lamentable occurrence was sent from Cauterets." 

Times, London, October 3, 1833. 



It is a lovely summer day, 

For earth and sky keep holiday ; 

Rich myrtles breathe, bright roses glow, 

The common plants more lovely grow ; 



30 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

Within their shady sheltering grove, 
The feathered songsters sing of love : 
High over all, the cloudless sun looks down, 
And smiles upon the scene, his gorgeous splendoui 
crown. 

It is a lovely summer day 
When wanton zephyrs idly play — 
Coquetting with the Insect-queen, 
Or shedding perfumes o'er the scene, 
They have been pilfering from the glade 
Where violets slumber in the shade : 
Or raising gentle ripples on the lake, 
O'er which in happy harmlessness they take. 

It is a lovely summer day, 
Each eye is bright, each heart is gay ; 
The Bridegroom and his lovely Bride, 
O'er the smooth lake prepare to glide ; 



FUGITIVE PIECES. 3 L 

There all their happiness to tell 
To listening rock and conscious dell ; 
For in such hour the loving pulse strikes full 
And tears or solitude, alone its beatings lull. 

It is a lovely summer day, 
With easy oar they urge their way : 
Yet oft by tender questions stayed, 
The boat but little progress made. 
Whenever a new headland brought 
Fresh scenes t 1 admire, fresh food for thought, 
He dropped the oar : and call ye this delay — 
These blessed moments snatched from common life 
away ? 

It is a lovely summer day, 
And little deemed they of delay — 
For they were in the days of youth, 
Full of bright hope and rosy truth ; 



32 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

And loved each innocent delight 
Which thoughtful manhood comes to blight; 
And still found pleasure in these humble scenes 
WhereNature revels, and where Learning rarely gleans. 

It is a lovely summer day, 
No cloud obscures the noon-tide ray 
That penetrates the lake's clear deep, 
And shows where all its treasures sleep — 
" See, Julia, see !"" — the oarsman cried, 
And careless o'er the vessel's side, 
He pressed his oar to catch the pebbly bed, 
That, clear and shallow, all its tempting beauties 
spread. 

It is a lovely summer day, 
That boat — those lovers — where are they ? 
Alas ! the pool so shallow deemed, 
The pebbles that so near had seemed, 



FUGITIVE PIECES. 33 

Of a deceitful depth had proved — 
The balance of the boat removed, 
The rushing waters fearful warning gave, 
And the fond Lovers sunk beneath th' o'erwhelming 
wave. 

It is a lovely summer day, 
The lark sings joyous roundelay ; 
The violet scents the gentle gale, 
The roses blush along the vale ; 
The smooth lake beautifully smiles, 
Heedless of those her calm beguiles, 
Nor gives one passing sigh, one look of gloom, 
For those fair Beings whom her treacherous depths 
entomb. 

Torquay, Devonshire, Oct. 18, 1832. 



ON THE BUST 



DUKE OF BOURDEAUX. 



EXECUTED BY A YOUNG SCOTTISH ARTIST. 



Noble Descendant of a noble Race ! 

Whose every feature shews the form and grace, 

That marked thy Sires, a century of Kings, 
The living image of that splendid Star, 
The lion-hearted Chieftain of Navarre, 

Whose deeds ev'n now the loyal Frenchman sings. 



FUGITIVE PIECES. 35 

Child of a proud and lofty destiny, 

Though now harsh fortune buffet thee unkind ; 
Yet sweet the uses of adversity, 

To train the temper, elevate the mind. 
Soon shall thy Royal brow, thine eagle eye, 

Their proper sphere of splendid duty find, 
When gathering round thee in thy fathers' hall, 
Thy People hail with rapture thy Recall. 

And thou, ingeuious friend, whose speaking Bust i 
Has rescued safely from oblivion's dust, 

The lovely form of Infant Royalty ; 
And given those features, charming to our view, 
But soon to change to manhood's sterner hue, 

A tender, pleasing immortality ; 
How do I envy thine enchanting art, 

That gives such delicate and pleasing power ; 
That thus such calm endurance can impart, 

To the young feelings of life's buoyant hour ; 

d 2 



36 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

Can still yield comfort to the mother's heart, 

That oft will gaze upon her opening flower ; 
Yes, if success like this thine efforts cheer, 
What prospects glitter of a proud career ! 

Torquay, October, 1832. 






" They were to have been married the very day he sailed, Sir ; and 

'tis for love to him that Martha has refused many a good offer since, 

and never goes for a walk with our boys, like other girls of her age ; 

and I 'm mistaken if she don't be off after him some day and soon." 

****** 

" Why, he is a transported convict." 

"To be sure, as they call it, so he is ; but bless you, sir, we see 
no odium in that, here on the coast, when it comes only of our law- 
ful business." 

The Smuggler, vol. i. p. 289. 



Within that wild sequestered dell, 
The woodbine marks the cottage well, 
AVhich her own hands were wont to train 
Ere she forsook her native plain — 



38 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

Once dwelt a fair romantic maid — 
Loveliest of all within the glade 
The village party long had thought her, 
The grey-haired Smuggler's lovely daughter. 

She was most fair: the sculptor' eye 
Gazed on her form with ecstacy ; 
For graceful dignity was there, 
When lofty musing marked her air — 
Though oft in reverie most sad, 
As if she trembled to be glad, 
Many Love's lesson fair had taught her — 
The grey-haired Smuggler's pensive daughter. 

But she had loved from earliest youth 
With ardour, constancy, and truth. 
At length she heard that he she loved 
To other countries was removed ; 



FUGITIVE PIECES. 39 

For he transgress'd his nation's laws, 
In what she deemed a harmless cause — 
This was his simple Farewell brought her, 
" To the old Smuggler's faithful daughter." 

She vowed her faith she would not break, 
Nor her poor lover now forsake ; 
And whilst the gallant, fair, and young, 
Upon her footsteps clustering hung, 
To lure her to her father's home, 
Nor o'er the pathless ocean roam — 
In vain — in vain — they all besought her — 
They cannot shake the Smuggler's daughter. 

The whistling breeze she boldly braves, 
And cheerfully her farewell waves ; 
Yet scarcely notices the crowd, 
That blessings pour, sincere and loud. 



40 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

Her thoughts are on a different shore — 
She longs to hear the breezes' roar ; 
And hails with joy the bounding water, 
That bears away the Smuggler's gallant daughter. 

Torquay, October 19, 1832. 



ON HIS WAY REJOICING. 



They 've decked my grave with lovely flowers 
Festoons dispel the cypress gloom — 

'Tis well ; 'twill soothe my dying hours, 
And cheer my passage to the tomb. 

Behold the lovely ocean glance 
Beneath the bright meridian ray ; 

Its breaking waves all idly dance, 

Like laughing mermaids when at play. 



42 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

The guardian hills with smiles look down 
On the blue bay, and shelter 'd shore ; 

Where east winds calm their chilling frown, 
And Ocean stills her billows' roar. 

What a sweet spot to soothe the soul, 
And teach it from the world to fly ; 

To rise above this earth's controul, 
And calmly read — -the task to die ! 

Thus the great chief, historians tell, 
When daggers told his race was o'er, 

Folded his mantle, ere he fell, 

Then sought the blow he shunned before. 

Thus too, the poets say, the swan — 
That noble, proud, majestic bird — 

A lesson leaves, at death, to man, 

When its calm notes of joy are heard. 



FUGITIVE PIECES. 4-3 

And so, ere from this Life I go, 

I gladly seek a scene like this, 
To learn, to leave a world of Woe, 

And gain a world of endless Bliss. 

So would I fold my mantle round — 

So humbly raise a tuneful voice ; 
And as I sink to Death's dark mound, 

With notes of Faith and Hope rejoice. 



Found in the Author's repositories, and evidently 
written shortly before his death. 



THE END. 



LONDON: 

1TSON AM) PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STHEF.T, STHAND. 



T- )*-l 



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